


I Will Change

by 017Bluefield



Category: ME!ME!ME! (Music Video), ME!ME!ME! - Teddyloid (Song)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Breaking Up & Making Up, Character Development, Dreams, F/M, Gen, Original Characters - Freeform, Post-Canon, Post-ME!ME!ME!, Redemption, Tokyo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/017Bluefield/pseuds/017Bluefield
Summary: "I'm done letting this…this thing control my life. It's high time I take a step towards being better than this. For her and for me."Shu—the hikikomori of the ME!ME!ME! music video—hears a knock on his door. What follows leads to him finally deciding to change; and some of the thrills, chills and spills that happen along the way.





	1. Tear It Down

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes** : The ME!ME!ME! music video is something fascinating…assuming you can handle the T&A and the gross saliva thing. So I'm kinda shocked that there's [so few fanfics] out there that [deal] with the "mythos" of the original video. How long has it been— _two years_ since it came out?
> 
> I can't say that I'll "fix the problem", _per se_. I'm only one person, after all. But I can't find what I'm looking for, so I'll take a bit of time to make a few pieces myself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shu has decided to turn his life around. This is his first step.

###  **C** hapter 1: Tear It Down

> **F** all down seven times, stand up eight.
> 
> —Japanese proverb

* * *

#### Shu

* * *

My room stinks.

Well, of course it does. I haven't dealt with the cigarette butts in weeks.

My apartment is a relatively cheap one, but it fit my needs. There was enough room for a bed and other commodities. It also gave me a place for all of my plastic figures—a few of them unfinished do-it-yourselfer robots—and the television and computer.

But today, I wasn't really thinking about any of that. Hell, I wasn't even looking at Rei Ayanami or the TV from where I lay on my futon bed.

Instead, today, I was standing on my bed—facing the other direction.

For the past few weeks, I've been having the same dream. You've probably seen it in some way, actually—the dream turning into a nightmare. I saw the girls come after me. I saw the Hana that wasn't Hana swallow her up. I saw the girls tear me apart in genuine love—and I could feel the fear, the rage, the terror as _she_ came in close for one last "kiss".

That was when I woke up.

Not like how they do in horror _manga_ , where the victim catapults awake in terror; but as though my alarm clock had gone off again.

That was the first of two events that made me change. This journal entry comes after the second.

After I woke up today, I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and changed my clothes. With that done, I came back here to face my problem.

I'm not entirely sure where this so-called "Meme-chan" came from. All I knew at the time was that she'd become popular with a lot of people—and it wasn't hard to know why. They had a music video that utterly exploded in views. There was artwork of them (this is before we get to the fanart). And it all appealed to the male demographic.

And when I say appealed, I _mean_ appealed.

After all, it had gotten me enticed.

I stared at the Meme-chan pin-up poster on my wall, remembering that nightmare. How they changed from being these cute girls in magenta one-piece numbers into a massive army of clones that would—ahem—"love you to death". My fists clenched. My brow scrunched.

 _I'm done letting this…this_ thing _control my life. It's high time I take a step towards being better than this. For Hana_ and _for me._

In one swift stroke, I tore off the Meme-chans from my wall. The bed creaked a little as I stormed off of it and moved the desk chair aside. Now standing in front of the window, I undid the latch, opened it as wide as it would go, and threw the poster out.

The wind outside made sure to carry it far, far away.

Shutting the window just as quickly, I finally let out the breath that I didn't know I'd been holding. With both hands against the glass, I breathed in and out. The smell of the wet asphalt and concrete was again slowly overtaken by the old cig butts.

_One step. A million more to go._

Then I looked up.

_Looks like it's getting stormy today…_

* * *

#### Somewhere nearby…

* * *

He felt the paper hit his head with a damp _Smack!_

"Hm?"

Grabbing the foreign object, the foreign individual removed it from the back of his head and moved it in front of his eyes. His stainless steel watch ticked as he realized what it was.

Turning around, he could see the apartment complex in the stormy distance. The windows on the first few floors were all closed, so it must've been a minute ago since _he_ tossed it out.

The foreigner smiled. "Way to go with fighting your nightmares, kid. Welcome back to the real world."

And with that, the foreigner with the watch left, stuffing the poster into a garbage recepticle without breaking stride.

* * *

####  **_つづく_ **


	2. The Second Event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shu mentioned that two events motivated him to change. The dream was the first.
> 
> The guy who showed up with a grocery bag full of food is the second.

###  **C** hapter 2: The Second Event

> " **N** o one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another."
> 
> —Charles Dickens

* * *

September 29, 2016(?).

The air was a bit chilly as the foreigner knocked on door 301.

The apartment complex where Shu Nakajima lived was a U-shaped stack of four above-ground-level floors. It was a modern-looking building, made of concrete cubes and steel and not much else. Each floor had not a hallway along the inside of the U, but an open walkway. Luckily, the "missing wall" was replaced with a reasonable stomach-high…"fence" isn't the right word, since it was made out of concrete. But at the very least, people wouldn't have to worry about falling to their deaths or something.

Stepping back, the foreigner started rocking on his heels. He wore an orange long-sleeve shirt under a dark-grey jacket, straight-fit jeans, sneakers, and glasses with thin black frames. He was holding a plastic bag full of convenience store food in his left hand. On his left wrist sat a stainless steel analog watch.

His left eye was brown, his right an unnatural blue.

After what seemed like 50 repetitions of rocking on his feet, the man then started doing push-ups on the doorbell. _Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!_

There was a rustling noise inside of the apartment. "Coming, coming…" came the irritated groan. Then came the sliding and clicking of the locks.

Stepping away from the doorbell, the man watched as the door—a metal-and-glass abomination to break into—creaked open. The young man on the other side peered at him cautiously.

With a smile, the foreigner held up the bag of food. "Hi. I'm Bluefield. Nice to meet ya, sir."

* * *

#### Shu

* * *

He was pretty persuasive.

At some point during my "stint in fantasyland", I'd completely forgotten to buy groceries, or even some toiletries. Unfortunately, with most of my family being in Kyoto (vacation) and me being in Tokyo, I couldn't ask them to help me anyway.

And Hana… I couldn't ask the one I'd dumped. Forget it. I might be a horrible person, but I'm _not_ gonna make her shop for my toothpaste.

And yet, this guy—this half-American, half-Japanese individual who had no reason to do so—went out of his way to bring a lot of food, including _inarizushi_ and two bottles of Coca-Cola. Not everything I needed, but it was a start.

"So," said the man named Bluefield, biting another _inarizushi_ , "where are your neighbors, anyway? I figured I might've run into one of 'em by now."

We were sitting on either side of a low wooden table I had in the closet. Bluefield was sitting with his legs crossed, his back to my figurines. I was sitting with my own back to my bed.

I stopped mid-chew. "Um…" Obviously, I didn't know. "Maybe they're out?"

"Huh." Okay, when I say Bluefield bit into his _inarizushi_ , I mean he sheared off one end in his teeth. I couldn't tell what his teeth looked like. "And your family? No offense, but by the look of things, this place is clearly _your_ pigsty…"

_"Pigsty", huh… Yeah, I guess that's the only thing I_ can _call it now._

I shook my head. "Nah, they're not here. They're over in Kyoto."

"Kyoto, eh?" Bluefield raised an eyebrow. "So, you're pretty much alone out here?"

My thoughts flickered back to Hana smiling at me during the last Obon Festival we'd attended together.

My shoulders scrunched. "…Yeah."

"And clearly not scared of me. Some guy just shows up at your door with food, said guy's eating _inarizushi_ in your apartment, and here you are! Just sitting there." Bluefield swallowed and took a long glug from his Coca-Cola bottle. "…Ahhh… So, Shu Nakajima—know what I think right now?"

I looked at him. Sitting down, he wasn't much taller than me. I shrugged. "What?"

His eyes flicking above me for a moment, Blu motioned towards what was behind me. "Must be one helluva scary poster on your wall."

…

Slowly, I turned to look.

The Legion of Meme-chans stared down at me, mouths open, tongues out. Ready to titillate—or so I would have thought.

An image of them coming after me flickered in my mind.

Without thinking, I moved to get up.

_THUD._

"Ow!" I flopped back onto the floor, grabbing my knees.

"What's wrong?" Bluefield's words made me look at him. "It's just a poster, right?"

I looked back again. Indeed, it was. Sure, it was a legion of Meme-chans…in bikinis. Not wearing the things that I would hesitate to call "plug suits". Nothing to run away from here. "Y-Yeah…" I stammered. "It's just…"

Popping the _inarizushi_ into his mouth, Bluefield wiped his hands with a paper napkin. "Mm?"

"No, it's nothing," I decided. "It's pretty ridiculous. You wouldn't believe it."

"Oh, really?" Bluefield leaned forward, raising one eyebrow. "Try me, then."

I gave him a skeptical look.

Then I sighed. It's not like I had much dignity left to lose.

* * *

After I finished with my "dream story", Bluefield had his arms crossed, eyes on the table.

"Okay, so let me make sure I got this down right: the Meme-chan clones are a bunch of puppets, Dark Hana is their mistress, Dark Hana consumed your girlfriend, and the battle culminated in your head floating back onto your bed. Is that all the most important points?"

I nodded.

"I see." Bluefield grabbed his Coco-Cola and gulped down the last of it. "Well, that tells me your most obvious problems. 1.) You miss your girlfriend—Hana Murakami. B.)…" He stopped. "No wait… _2.)_ You've let your lifestyle as a _hikikomori_ enslave you."

I stared at him. "How did you figure that out?"

Bluefield merely shrugged. "Dunno. My line of work puts things into perspective, I suppose. Plus,"—and here, he picked up something from the floor and passed it to me—"actions speak louder than words. For example: of all the things you used your phone for today, it wasn't for changing the background image."

I blinked. I'd left my touch phone hooked onto the charger cord. And on the ground. Right next to where he'd been sitting.

But sure enough, clear as day, the phone's lock screen sported a photo of Hana and me. We had our heads together, side by side, while making peace signs and wearing goofy grins.

I remembered those times. The joy, the exhilaration. The reality. The fear.

…The feeling of having someone beside me, holding my hand.

_Hana…_

I remembered how Hana would be there for me.

And I remembered the dream. I remembered Hana reaching out to me. And I remembered failing to catch her, no matter how fast I could make my suit go.

"…"

Before I realized it, something wet was rolling down my cheeks.

Bluefield said nothing as my shoulders shook. He just crossed his arms.

Quietly, I moved one hand from my phone to my cheek. The fingertips came away shiny.

_"Just let me know if you need anything. Okay, Shu-chan?"_

"…H-Hana… _Hana…!_ "

Five seconds later, I started bawling, choking out her name.

* * *

"…You feel any better now?"

Wiping my eyes, I nodded, only barely registering what Bluefield had asked me. "…Uh… Uh-huh…"

When my vision was finally cleared of tears, I checked to make sure the photo background was still on my phone. Vaguely, I noticed the notification panel under our heads.

**Email: 2 messages - 6:50pm**

"…So, what will you do now?"

I started as I looked up at Bluefield. Somehow, I'd forgotten that he was there, finishing his lunch. "What?" I asked dumbly.

"From what you've told me, the dream is nudging you to break free of pulling away from the real world. And honestly, it's probably a good idea. You had real people before. Now, you have…"—he started looking around him—"cigarette butts…figurines…and a poster that is creeping the _hell_ out of me. You had the world. Now you have a room."

I almost turned to look at it again, but didn't. "I…"

But Bluefield held up a hand here. "At-tah-tah-tah-tah," he stopped me. "You don't need to tell me yet. Besides, I should probably go. Here,"—he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper—"when you've made you decision, call me a day later. I can't just force something like this onto a regular human being."

He then pulled a pen out of his sleeve and, after setting the empty _inari_ container aside, started writing on the paper. It was a sky-blue rectangle—bent from having been sat on, I guessed. His handwriting was somewhat cramped; yet when he made a mistake, he quickly turned the pen over and rubbed the glaring screw-up away. Black, erasable ink.

"All right, here ya go." With a _Fwip!_ , Bluefield picked up the card and handed it to me. I looked at it. There it was, all right, prefixed with a message: _Even the resolute call._

"'Even the resolute'…"

Bluefield shrugged. "If you're serious about doing something, you're resolute." He looked rueful. "Bit pretentious?"

"No, it's…probably something I thought about when playing an MMO."

"A-ha. Okay."

* * *

Pretty soon, Bluefield was once again outside, in the chilly evening air. It had gotten much darker. I stood at the door, with I kept much wider than when he'd first shown up.

Bluefield was tying his sneakers—said he'd wanted them tight. "All right," he said, standing up, "that takes care of that."

"Hey… Bluefield?"

He looked at me. "Yeah?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "On the off-chance I _do_ decide to make something of my life… Why are you helping _me,_ of all people?"

Bluefield shrugged. "It's not my place to answer that for you, Shu-kun—certainly not now. Sorry, man."

Sighing, I scratched the back of my hand. "Yeah, should've figured. Well, uh…" I made to close the door. "…s-see ya."

He nodded. "See you soon."

 _Thud,_ went the door.

* * *

The next day, I tore the poster down and cast it away—just as a storm set in.

The night that would follow was host to one of the most frightening dreams I would ever have.

* * *

####  **_つづく_ **


	3. Same 'dividual, Different Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people don't have different nightmares about music video characters trying to kill them.
> 
> Then again, most people aren't people like Shu Nakajima.

###  **C** hapter 3: Same 'dividual, Different Side

> " **H** e who sees a need and waits to be asked for help is as unkind as if he had refused it."
> 
> —Dante Alighieri

* * *

My dream felt like a continuation of my last one…and it also didn't.

When I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but outer space around me. At least, I was pretty sure it was all around me. Hard to tell too much when you're just a head.

No space Memes. No big spaceship. No neon stereos. No Dark Hana.

No Hana.

Nothing.

That didn't make any sense. As soon as the Meme-chan space army turned me into a floating cannibal feast, I'd felt my severed head land on (what I'm pretty sure was) my bed. I remembered all of that with an uncomfortable clarity. I knew that I should _not_ still be in free-fall.

Yet here I was—a barely-conscious severed head, floating through space. Only kept alive because of "dream logic".

It was very cold. It felt like I was sinking in the ocean—an ocean without water.

I'd never truly registered how truly alone I was.

Then, out of nowhere, a hand grabbed the back of my head.

"…!"

My eyes widened, darting around in the dark trying to see the owner. The grip wasn't tight, but the pain was enough to snap me out of the fog.

Then came the voice.

**"Calm down, fool."**

If I'd had my body, I would've stopped flailing at those words. In contrast to the Meme-chans, this voice was grating, unpleasant. Somewhat indiscernible.

"…What?" I gasped.

Which is A.) quite something to pull off without lungs or a voice box, and B.) would be flat-out impossible without air for the sound to travel through.

…What? I haven't spent _all_ my time alone on synthetic relationships.

The voice spoke again, from directly behind the hand.

**"You want to break free of a certain sordid part of your past, correct? Then I must ask you: why? What motive could you possess to potentially spark your newfound drive?"**

"What… Wait…" I understood what he'd said—I realized that this entity was a he—but at the same time, he'd told me nothing. "Who—are you? What's going on?"

**"Hmph. You needn't concern yourself with my identity. Now, answer the question. Preferably soon. I believe that you are approaching your 'stop'."**

Something about that voice… Unlike the Memes, _this_ entity wasn't interested in keeping me around. It just wanted my answer.

So I spoke from the first thing that came to mind.

"…I…I never apologized to her," I said. "We were happy and I should've seen that and I threw it all away for my own little fantasies. She's too good for me, and no matter what happens, whether she'll accept it or not, whether she cares anymore… I at least want to apologize to her. For abandoning her."

**"Your drive to change…is a chance to merely apologize to this person? Is that all?"**

There it was again. A mild, mild sense of disdain. Or was it something else?

**"…No matter. It's another step for you. The next step, however, will be a little…shall we say, 'tricky'."**

"Huh?"

No sooner had the word left my severed head than the stars began to…shift.

Before my eyes, the curtains of stars parted to reveal a swirling portal of light and darkness. The whirlpool was probably 3 meters high and wide, and it was getting larger. A yawning maw of water—

—and, I felt the pit of the stomach I no longer had drop.

_Oh, dear god._

**"Keep your eyes closed, Nakajima."**

That was the last thing the voice said before the hand shoved me into the whirl.

I couldn't hear myself screaming until it stopped.

* * *

"—AH!"

I didn't shoot straight up when I came to in the prison cell. But I definitely felt my head leave the concrete I found myself lying on.

Looking down—oh yes, I have my neck back—at myself, I sat up. My body was back to normal. Light-blue shirt, shorts, no shoes. No cybernetic augmentation suit. No missing limbs from being cannibalized—I was completely whole. But just to be sure, I grabbed one of my legs, and waggled my toes.

I breathed a sigh of relief, eyes closed.

Then I took a look around. The fluorescent lighting in the hallway helped, with minor flickering.

The concrete cell I was locked in was smaller than my apartment bedroom: 3 meters wide at the bars, and 3(-ish) meters long. Two fold-out metal panels—one per opposite concrete wall—served as the beds; each layered with thin, yellowing, moth-eaten blankets that wouldn't see me through a snowstorm. Beyond the thick bars was a hallway, and on the other side, a cell sat opposite, mirroring the one I was in. I could safely assume that there were more cells, going either way down the hall.

All in all, the place seemed well worn, but still able to keep some measly high school graduate locked up for a good long while.

I haven't been inside of a police station's cells before, so I'm not sure if this place was meant to be 100% based on them (I doubt it). But if it meant what I thought it did, I guess it was only fitting.

I also guessed it was better to be whole and imprisoned, than free and mutilated.

Standing up, the concrete chilled my feet as I strode over to the cell door. Welded steel rods about…2 centimeters in diameter, spaced out by 10 centimeters—just like the rest of the bars. The beige paint was flaking off, some coming off on my hands after giving them a firm shake.

I brushed my hand off on my shorts leg. "Shit," I muttered.

Usually, in video games, when you're stuck in a cell of some kind, the only thing you can do is wait until someone with the keys to open the door for you. I didn't know how much of that applied to dreams/nightmares, but I didn't want to make assumptions.

Sighing, I took another look around my cell. The concrete walls. The metal "beds". The cold concrete floors. The ambient lighting from the hallway. The screen on the left bed. The spider web in the far upper-right-hand corner. My phone.

—I blinked. "Huh?"

My cell phone was lying on the ground, beside where I'd found myself, switched off but still intact. I moved to scoop it up, my feet patting on the cold stone. I felt my breathing ease up, if only by a small amount. In a place like this, having a reminder of the real world—a touchstone, an anchor, or whatever—was somehow way more assuring to me than something synthetic. Fabricated. Imaginary.

I pressed and held the button on the side. In a few seconds, the phone's screen went on, showing the black start-up screen.

But I barely paid that any attention.

Because I looked to my left and almost had a heart attack. Sitting on the left-side bed was a _very_ familiar portable screen.

I'd recognize that glitchy corner anywhere.

Okay.

No.

That thing _definitely_ wasn't in this cell when I came to.

Gulping, I stood up, my grip on my phone tightening…though not enough to break it. The screen wasn't doing anything. The image from the music video was still ghosted onto the glass, visible against the blue screen—more evidence that this thing was from my apartment. But I wasn't concerned about that.

I remember Dark Hana "paying me a visit"—pushing through, boobs first; hopping around like an alien grasshopper; the unmasking; the bile.

So much bile.

_Ugh—_

Covering my mouth with my free hand, I cautiously stepped toward the bed, slipping my phone into my pants pocket. An idea was forming in the back of my mind. Every time, the "other Hana" had gotten through the screen while it was on. Maybe if I could turn it off, or at least smash it…

Finally, I got to it. Grabbing it, I turned it over, already sweating as my eyes frantically darted over the back.

_Nothing. No button. Shit. Shit!_

The rotating made it all the way back to the screen, and I—

A hand had begun to reach out to me.

A _very_ familiar suit-like hand, shades of pink.

"F**K!" I yelped, dropped the screen as I fell backwards. Next thing I knew, my back smacked right into the bed behind me. "Gah, shhh…"

As I hissed in pain, I registered the _CRUNCH!_ of glass breaking. Looking below the other bed, I could see the busted screen, and the hand…

It had somehow been chopped off. Blood—or at least, I _thought_ it was blood—dripping out of the stump, pooling onto the ground. The fingers twitched.

I stared at it as the hand…did nothing. Its spasms seemed to slow down in frequency. Hopefully, that forearm-long cutting wouldn't try to…well, grab my ankle. Or give me bloody footprints.

I closed my eyes and let out a ragged sigh. I _really_ didn't want them to eat me again.

And that's about when something vibrated next to my—

No, let's _not_ go there.

"Goddammit…" I had to wonder why this dream was so content with startling me repeatedly. Still seated, I fished out my phone and checked the lock screen.

**Messages: 1**

_Well, least there's reception…I guess,_ I thought as I unlocked the phone and checked the Messages app. At the top of the stack was a number I didn't recognize. But it had the notification dot on it, so I tapped it.

_Might wanna not catch your breath now, champ! You're still entertaining a guest, and she's perky as ever! My advice? Maybe run!_

I stared at that. There was no way this could have been _him_. I'd never given him _my_ phone number. Besides, as eccentric as Bluefield had seemed, this message didn't seem to fit him at all.

Then some of the words flashed in my head.

_—still entertaining a guest—perky as ever—_

_Wait a minute…_

Slowly, I looked back at the severed forearm. "…Oh, no," I whispered.

Around the severed arm, a large circle of black matter had formed while I'd been distracted. The hand clenched its pink-and-pink fingers, and ripples formed across the puddle—first outward, then slowly changing course to inward.

Then, as the black fluid slowly inched away* from me, the arm began to regenerate the rest of its body.

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgod—_

As ashamed as I am to admit it, I have a pretty good idea of Meme-chan's measurements. So I recognized the body that was growing like a mass of quivering flesh. The rest of the arm. The small shoulders. The subtle collarbone as "skin" grew over the exposed red flesh. The voluptuous C-cup breasts—

—no. I'm _not_ going there again. I backed up, back sliding against the bed as I slowly went to my left.

All the while, the black matter was flowing back, towards the half-formed clone. I didn't know what was up with that stuff. I'd never seen it before. It sure as hell wasn't in my last nightmare. But something about repulsed me more than the clones had. It almost seemed like…it was alive all on its own.

And then it was gone, absorbing itself into her half-formed legs.

Finally, as her feet grew back to full size (I wished I hadn't seen what the "suit's" high heels were made of), the familiar Meme—clad in her fetishistic "spacesuit"—stood up, stumbling slightly. Her long turquoise hair and weird eyelashes swayed in the air as she looked around.

I had almost stopped breathing. I was afraid. Very afraid.

Meme's purple eyes met the concrete back wall. "Where…is this?" she asked aloud. That voice—so deceptively innocent, and yet, it chilled me to the core.

Then, down the hall behind me, a door squeaked open.

Unfortunately, it got the Meme clone's attention towards that direction—towards _me._ She smiled coyly, eyes lighting up with recognition.

_…F**k._

"Shuuu-sama!" she cooed, stepping towards me. I pulled back, trying to make myself small. "So _this_ is where you wound up! Oh, Mistress Hana and the others will be _so_ happy to see you again!"

I felt my face drain of blood at the sound of that. They were pretty happy to get their hands on my mangled body. But a very small part of me bristled with a rage I couldn't act upon.

That monster was still using _her_ name.

Her _name_.

But there was nothing I could do. Nothing but die an undignified death.

"Come on, Shu-sama!" the Meme clone chirped cheerfully, oblivious to my fear of her. "Let's get out of this dirty prison!"

That's when the footsteps behind me arrived at my cell door, a shadow loomed over me, and a loud pump-cranking noise—

 ** _"Sure, I'll show you the way out,"_** said the masked figure in the grey coat.

The clone looked up, oblivious.

**_BANG!!_ **

* * *

The deafening roar of the shotgun made me cower in the corner I'd slid myself into, while the intended target was thrown backward without so much as a sound. The Meme clone smacked right into the opposite concrete, with several holes bored into her chest and face. Instead of an expression of (excited) eagerness, her face held blank shock as it collided with the end of the right-side bed.

**_THUD!_ **

_Geez,_ I thought, wincing at the sight. And I thought I was the chew toy last time. Sighing the sigh I didn't know that I'd been holding, I looked back at my savior and shakily stood up.

I couldn't tell who it was. The individual was wearing a bulky gas mask with opaque red lenses, a grey hooded long coat that went all the way to the floor, and a black harness of some kind fastened over that. A pump-action shotgun—at least, I'm pretty sure that's what it was—rested in the figure's gloved hands. The barrel was still smoking, confirming to me what I already needed to know.

The figure turned to face me. I could make out the bars reflecting off of his gas mask's lenses.

 ** _"Shu Nakajima?"_** spoke the mask. Immediately, I recognized the telltale distortion of a voice changer.

I paused, partly afraid of whoever this person is, before nodding.

As if in response, something started glowing behind me. I turned to look, as the Meme clone's corpse glowed a bright blue before burning up, dissolving into the air. Like a downsized Obon firework, a million flecks of light bloomed, floated up, and faded away into nothing.

What the hell…? I thought. Turning back, I saw that the masked figure was looking over my shoulder at the strange spectacle. He looked at me, then straightened up.

 ** _"…Okay, then,"_** the figure said. **_"Let's get you out before another 'guest' sees her way in."_**

Moving swiftly, he knelt in front of the cell door, and with a noise, the lock disengaged. As the door slid open, I stepped back, worried that this "way out" would involve getting shot in the face, but the figure simply grabbed my upper arm with his free hand. The shotgun swaying to his side made me flinch slightly—it had briefly pointed right at my…downstairs.

 ** _"Let's go,"_** said the figure.

And with that, he dragged me out of the cell, closing the door behind me.

**_CLANG!_ **

—just as Meme-chan smacked herself against it, groping through the bars trying to reach me.

"GYAH!" I jumped back. _Another one?!_

The figure had flinched, but the jumpscare didn't stop him from aiming the shotgun, this time at close range.

The shotgun pellets then proceeded to install themselves into the clone's face.

**_BANG!!_ **

This time, the figure didn't waste time looking at the kill. **_"Come on!"_**

With that, we ran like hell. An audience of metal bars lined the halls as we bolted down the hall, silent and imposing. I didn't look behind me. I was too scared to.

But I could definitely hear something banging against the bars.

After what felt like a short marathon across Akihabara (no way this prison was _that_ big), the figure yelled, **_"There! On the right!"_**

I looked. Ahead of us, there was wide alcove between two of the cells. On the ceiling beside it was a welcome sight. A green-and-white sign.

**EXIT — >**

Seeing that was enough to put more oomph in my step.

But there was also the clangs of bars falling to the ground. The sounds came from behind, as did the unmistakable heady giggles of—

_Oh, SHIT!_

Turning hard to the alcove, the figure and I found ourselves facing a push-outward door. The push-bar was out, which meant…

**_"Go!"_ **

I didn't argue. I barreled through the door, and the figure followed close behind.

Another hallway… Though, this one seemed normal enough.

I looked back at the figure, who had locked the door and was now moving—very slowly—a refrigerator against it.

 ** _"Excuse me, but I'd appreciate some help?"_** said the figure, voice strained as he pushed the block of metal against the smooth concrete.

I blinked. "O-Oh! Right! Sorry!"

Just in time, too.

As soon as we'd propped the fridge against the door, something big banged against the latter.

But otherwise, the blockade held. We were safe…for now.

I gasped for breath, clutching my chest. The figure was breathing heavily, too, although he wasn't showing it as much. He looked at me.

 _ **"…Talk about having some serious problems, huh?"**_ he said.

I stopped at that. Until now, the figure had been quasi-professional with me. Now, he was talking like a…regular person.

I had a hunch.

"…Bluefield?" I asked tentatively.

At that, the figure straightened up. At first, I was afraid I'd made a mistake, but he just sheathed his shotgun. Reaching up, he lowered his hood—and the sleeves dropped enough to reveal a stainless steel watch on his left wrist. Under the hood was brown hair, albeit a bit longer.

 _Then_ he unfastened the mask from his head.

The first thing I noticed was the eyes: the _right_ eye brown, the left eye blue. The second thing I noticed: "he" wasn't a guy.

"Close," said the girl, grinning as if she'd heard a joke, before getting serious. "But he'll definitely be glad to see you, Nakajima-kun. Now, let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

Just so you know, it wasn't over.

Not yet.

* * *

_**つづく** _

* * *

  * That _is_ how English-speakers say it, right? "Inched away"? Right? Okay, just making sure.




	4. Tómið

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shu Nakajima gave up some valuable people, places, things, and ideas when he withdrew from the world.
> 
> Hana Murakami still feels the aftershock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a surprise: this chapter includes a hyperlink! Be sure to to click it when you reach it.
> 
> Also: yes, I know the title isn't French. It's Icelandic.

###  **C** hapter 4: _tómið_  

> " **W** here you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell."
> 
> —Edna St. Vincent Millay

* * *

#### Hana

* * *

My room is one of those large affairs—a second-story cube of white that's about 4 meters tall, 7 meters long, 5 meters wide. Canopy bed with poofy blue covers, a small balcony to a wide view outside, and a closet just short on space to not be the walk-in kind.

My parents are like that: try to give me the best of whatever they can think of. They very well could've made _this_ room the master bedroom, but no—they made do with the one next door, giving me the private chamber with more space than I needed. Were they spoiling me? I guess. Maybe Mom was grooming me for someone "better" than Shu-chan, and was mortified when I decided to go against her grain.

I guess she'd have the last laugh, then.

Well, I'm still coping. It's hard.

Take today, for example. Before going out into the city for the day, I was browsing through some stuff at my computer, right beside my bed. My eyes scanned the search results as one link caught my eye almost immediately. Reading the English text, I clicked the link, taking me to a YouTube video.

Now I know what you're thinking. _Ah, it's probably one of those make-up videos._ Right?

Let me ask you a question: does applying lipstick or mascara involve stuff blowing up in the distance?

####  _[シン・ゴジラ](https://youtu.be/zgyq6YKeIms) _

Yeah, I didn't think so.

As the music from the original film trumpeted over the trailer, I noticed that it was paced a lot faster than the other trailer I saw. I propped my head onto my right arm as cars flew about and tank shells zoomed by to strike the blurry form of the behemoth.

Eventually, a black-and-red shape appeared in the middle of a darkened Tokyo.

_**SKREEEEOOOONK!** _

Anyway, the second the trailer was done, I closed down the tab and leaned back in my chair.

Sometimes, I wonder just what it is about _kaiju_ movies that draws people to them. Maybe it's the two or more parties beating the ever-loving snot out of each other, partly due to the inability to communicate. Maybe it's the city getting obliterated with cantankerous disregard.

Maybe some people just love watching the world burn.

I sighed. I'd wanted to watch _Shin Godzilla_ with Shu at some point. Heck, I'd already bought the Blu-Ray disc. Haven't put it into the player. I guess part of me still misses him. I guess that's why I can't bring myself to watch it right now.

Shu-chan…

I know that it ended not with a bang, but a whimper.

But that doesn't change the fact that _he_ changed.

Part of me had wanted him to get angry. Angry with me.

And the fact that he just…left…not even uttering a complete sentence, just made it hurt even more.

_Ring-ring! Ring-ring!_

I looked down. My cell phone was buzzing against the desk. Picking it up, I checked the caller ID.

**Dad**

Brighting at the sight of that, I unlocked the phone and picked up.

"Hana?"

"Hey, Dad," I responded, smiling. "How's work going?"

"Oh, well enough. I'm trying not to let anybody run themselves ragged, but other than that, we're managing. Hopefully, though, I'll be back in a few weeks. Anyway, how're you and Mom holding up?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Mom's still working at the salon, and I got a hundred points on my last French test!"

"Really? That's amazing, Hana! I guess college's doing right by you?"

Hard to argue with that. I pointed out as much. "Anyway, I should probably go. Groceries don't buy themselves, Dad."

"Yeah, that's true… Oh, right, right," Suddenly, Dad's voice seemed to get a bit somber. "Have you, uh, heard anything from Nakajima-kun yet?"

…Ah.

"Oh… No, not really," I replied, my face having fallen.

"Ah, okay. Sorry for bringing it up, pumpkin. I just hate that I haven't given him a piece of my mind yet."

"Hey, come on, you don't need to worry about him for me, Dad. Besides, why would Mom ever let me near him by a kilometer?"

"Fair enough," Dad conceded. "Well, I'll head home as soon as my cycle's done. I'll call you when I'm at the airport, okay?"

"Okay."

"Right, I gotta go. See you soon, pumpkin!"

I grinned at that. "You too, Dad. Love you!"

_Click._

* * *

Evening.

I was at the supermarket, the familiar scents of the place dulling my nose.

Well, I could still smell the lean hamburger samples.

As I pushed my half-full cart out of the meat section, I munched on a sample as I ran through the shopping list in my head.

  * _Carrots—check._
  * _Bananas—check._
  * _1 bag of rice, large—check._
  * _1 six-pack of bottled water—check._
  * _1 package of beef—check._



"…so then, he runs off, and starts yelling at his buddy for embarrassing him!"

_Huh?_

Turning the corner, I saw a pair of high-schoolers standing by another shopping cart. The girl was talking to her boyfriend about something.

The boyfriend looked pretty shocked. "I can't believe he asked you guys that!"

"But it really happened! Then, next thing we know…"

Their chatter faded into the background as they walked off.

I was standing there for a short while after that.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Oh, sorry…! Please go ahead!"

* * *

Eventually, I managed to get the the register, then to the refrigerator.

That night, the memories came back again, and I cried myself to sleep.

Dad didn't hear it.

Neither did Mom.

* * *

**_つづく_ **


End file.
